


A Tale of Roses and Blood

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A song from long ago that warns of what happens when ice and fire collide.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Can Taste The Earth Beneath Me

**Author's Note:**

> Technically there are no spoilers as this story is based merely on a theory revolving around Jon Snow's birth, but nonetheless I warn you that there are spoilers if this theory proves correct.  
> I apologise for any inaccuracies, I am wielding my creative licence vigorously.

Lyanna gazed up at the colourful house banners fluttering in the breeze as she sat with her family in their high up seats, looking out across the hundreds of pavilions that lay beyond the field. The day was warm and bright despite the uneasy feeling throughout the crowds gathered that day. The Knight of the Laughing Tree’s victory, the previous day, had left everyone feeling anxious to see the knight, or not, again. However, no trace of the victor had been found and so the tourney continued undisturbed into the final day.

Lyanna glanced over at her future husband, Robert Baratheon, who was in the next gallery along, jesting with Jon Arryn. Lyanna wrinkled her nose at his handsome face and dark hair, he was attractive but looks were not what Lyanna sought in a man. 

Suddenly Robert looked over at her and Lyanna quickly glanced away. Her brother, Ned, who was sat next to her, leaned in close.

“Robert is looking at you,” He murmured in her ear.

Lyanna kept a tight smile on her face, “I know, he does it often.” 

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “When is the next match?” The benches were hard and Lyanna was not fond of waiting around.

Ned sighed with a smile. “It won’t be long now, Lyanna.”

Lyanna craned her neck out in order to catch a glimpse of the contestants. The word on everyone’s tongue was that Rhaegar Targaryen would be facing Ser Barristan Selmy and Lyanna was itching with excitement. Given that the two of them were probably fairly evenly matched, the joust was going to be interesting. 

Suddenly a roar erupted from both ends of the crowd as the two competitors entered the arena. Lyanna saw Ser Barristan Selmy, his expression focused and ready, mounting his horse. She looked over at Rhaegar Targaryen and laughed as he waved at the crowd, an easy smile etched on his face, but Lyanna thought she glimpsed a certain sadness about the way he moved.

Rhaegar mounted his horse, pulling his visor down and trotting forward slightly. The two men rode towards each other, breaking into a gallop, lances in hand. Barristan Selmy was strong and confident, each of his actions were strong and true as his lance struck Rhaegar’s. He reminded Lyanna of the eagles she had seen out in the mountains, their eyes sharp, their wings strong. But if Barristan Selmy was an eagle then Rhaegar was a swallow; easily darting away from Selmy’s lance, his movements were liquid like, smooth and graceful. The match went on for a long time, Lyanna’s eyes darting between the two men eagerly, until finally Rhaegar dodged one of Selmy’s lunges and shattered his lance, ending the match.

The crowd cheered and Lyanna clapped, admiring the young prince as he trotted towards Barristan Selmy. They clapped each other on the back and Selmy lifted Rhaegar’s arm up in victory. 

Rhaegar took off his helmet and smiled up at the crowd.

Until his eyes locked on Lyanna.

Lyanna felt the world grow quiet, a shiver go through her body as he did so and she felt unable to look away. Rhaegar’s smile fell slightly, his silver hair dancing in the wind. The look he gave her seemed to say so much yet give away so little. Selmy said something in Rhaegar’s ear, tearing his gaze away from Lyanna as he replied, but Lyanna continued to gaze at the prince. He was by far the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his silver hair falling to his shoulders, his body was strong but willowy.

“He is some warrior,” Ned said, sitting back in his seat, smiling. “He will make a great king, I am sure.”

Lyanna continued to watch Rhaegar as he readied himself for the next match. “He seems sad somehow.”

Ned looked at his sister, noting the hint of emotion in it but he did not comment on it.

As the day continued, Rhaegar Targaryen went on to win every single one of his matches and Lyanna began to find herself keeping her eyes focused on him instead of the tourney. There was something intriguing about the man, she could sense something lay behind the mask of smiles and courtesies and she found herself taking an interest in him.  
The crowd erupted in cheers and roars as Rhaegar was crowned champion of the tourney. In his hand he held a laurel of blue roses for the woman he would crown The Queen of Love and Beauty. Lyanna smiled at the sapphire colour of the roses; they grew close to Winterfell and were her favourite. This time the prince did not wave or smile at the onlookers but he seemed to be looking for someone. Lyanna spied his wife, Elia of Dorne, further down in the gallerys, looking at her husband with awe and waited for Rhaegar to give the laurel to her. The crowd’s cheers began to quieten as confusion grew. 

_Why wasn’t he going over to Elia?_

Lyanna frowned slightly, wondering what was going through his mind.

Suddenly Rhaegar’s eyes found hers once more.

Without moving his gaze from her, he urged his horse to walk over to Lyanna’s stool and the air seemed to grow colder. 

She did not breathe. 

She did not move. 

Rhaegar came to a stop in front of Lyanna.

And all the smiles died.

Wordless, with a look of determination on his face, Rhaegar placed the laurel of roses in Lyanna’s lap.

Silence had enveloped the scene and Lyanna simply stared at the prince. 

Ice and fire regarded one another as the feeling came upon the crowd that on that day, they had witnessed something extraordinary. With an offering of blue roses, a young prince changed the course of history forever.

Ever so slightly, Lyanna inclined her head towards Rhaegar and he returned the gesture, turning his horse away from the scene and out of the arena. Aware of dozens of eyes on her, Lyanna looked up at her brother. It was not often that she felt unsure of herself, but in that moment Lyanna felt like a little girl again, looking up to her brother for guidance.

Ned simply gave her hand a squeeze and smiled faintly at her. “Be careful, sister.”

Lyanna ignored the eyes on her and looked down at the roses in her lap. They were beautiful and glistening with moisture. Tentatively, she stroked the petals with a finger, barely daring to acknowledge all that they represented.

 

That night, Lyanna sat on a lonely hill just outside of Harrenhal, her bare feet caressing the grass in between her toes. She looked up at the moon soaked trees and closed her eyes. Whenever she felt ill at ease, Lyanna would escape the crowded halls of home and escape into the sanctuary of the woods. She breathed in the scent of the cold air and felt at peace.

The day’s events had left the castle in uproar; The Starks were wary, Robert was furious, Elia was upset, The Targaryens were silent and Rhaegar was nowhere to be found. Lyanna was caught in the chaos, staring blankly at the arguing faces of the familiar and the unknown as they decided what all this meant. She simply gazed down at the roses still in her lap and remembered that look of defiance on Rhaegar’s face, so different from the cool and easy expression he had been wearing for the day.

Despite the complications of his actions, Lyanna had felt a rush of euphoria course through her body as he had held up the roses to her. For so long she had been thirsty for adventure, to feel the wind in her hair and a sword in her hand. The look in Rhaegar’s eyes had reflected those desires, it was a look of change, of defiance. And it had awoken something deep inside Lyanna’s body.

Lyanna heard a faint rustling behind her and she turned her head slowly, knowing who it was.

Rhaegar stopped immediately in the darkness of the trees, staring at her, waiting for her reaction.

Lyanna put her head to one side, a coy smile playing on her lips. “Good evening, prince.”

Rhaegar stepped into the moonlight, hands behind his back, stopping so he was stood next to Lyanna, looking up at the stars. “It is, isn’t it.”

“Should you be here? I’m sure your wife is wondering where you are,” Lyanna said.

Rhaegar said nothing, a sad smile appearing on his face.

Lyanna noticed his silence but continued all the same. “Congratulations on your victory today, I thought you fought valiantly,” Lyanna remembered the way he held himself so elegantly as he whirled past the attacks. “The way you moved so smoothly, like water. You held your sword as though it were a part of you, with a natural grace.” 

Rhaegar was looking at her, an amused expression on his pale face. “You are... a very peculiar young lady, why, you sound almost jealous.”

Lyanna laughed, throwing her head back. “I have once been called a centaur,” she admitted, still laughing. “I would choose armour over a dress any day.”

Rhaegar chuckled, making Lyanna smile; it sounded so honest compared to the smiles he had given the crowd earlier that day.

“Besides, you are a very strange prince; shouldn’t you be off drinking with your companions and dancing with beautiful women?” Lyanna teased.

Rhaegar smiled at her coolly. “Well it’s true, I _do_ love to dance,” he bowed down to her slightly, offering her his hand. 

Lyanna stared at it, a dark eyebrow raised, a challenging look on her face. She took his hand, gripped it, and allowed him to pull her up onto her feet. Lyanna realised that they were almost of an equal height as he placed his hand about her waist and she took his shoulder. Together they danced under the moonlight, Lyanna feeling the damp grass beneath her feet.

Lyanna held herself elegantly, despite her boyish personality and liked to believe herself sufficient at dancing even if it was not her favourite activity. Rhaegar seemed calm and composed as though he had been dancing all his life. Lyanna wondered whether he was the kind of man who did everything well. Rhaegar twirled her around, Lyanna’s thick dark hair fluttering behind her.

“What you did today was very daring,” Lyanna said, grinning. “Robert was very angry.”

Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. “Ah, your lucky husband-to-be.”

He must have spotted the grin fade from Lyanna’s face at the mention of the looming marriage. “Don’t you like him? Robert is a strong warrior, many girls would give their lives to trade places with you.”

Lyanna sighed. “Everyone seems to think that simply because Robert is handsome, I should be utterly content with the marriage proposal. They don’t imagine what it must be like knowing your husband may well humiliate you and bed some whore and I’m supposed to be _ok with it_. He will have no respect for me once he finds out I am not the blushing maiden he thinks I am,” her eyes grew cold. “I deserve respect.”

Rhaegar nodded, smiling. “You do. You strike me as a proud and fierce young woman, but you are dangerously beautiful,” A gleam appeared in his eye. “Like a wolf.”

Lyanna grinned at him. “You sound like Ned.”

Rhaegar chuckled. “Your brother is a smart man.”

“He over thinks things a lot,” Lyanna said.

Rhaegar laughed, the sound somehow filling Lyanna with happiness, overjoyed to see the honesty in his expression around her. But something was bothering her.

“Why did you do what you did today?” Lyanna asked, cocking her head to one side.

Rhaegar sighed, looking up at the moon as they twirled through the grass. “Do you ever feel as though your life is being lived for you?”

“I am a woman who is expected to walk with serenity, yet who fights better, and marry a man I cannot love. Of course I feel that way.”

Rhaegar smiled. “Well, all my life I have felt that way. I excel at every activity I partake in whether it be fighting, dancing or simply being courteous. As a boy I did not take to fighting, yet thoroughly enjoyed reading, I would sit for hours pouring myself over stories of knights and dragons. Even now I enjoy holding a lute more than a sword, but I feel a duty to become a strong figure that Westeros will believe in and follow loyally. I feel obligated to be a certain kind of man and today I felt like doing something I _wished_ to do. I felt compelled to give you those roses, knowing full well of the consequences I would have to face,” he smiled, his teeth shining in the moonlight. “Or perhaps I simply wanted to pay my respects to the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Lyanna smiled at Rhaegar, beginning to take a liking to this faraway prince, but her smile faded as he stopped dancing and broke away from her. It felt strange to suddenly be separate from his body despite only embracing for a short while.

“I must get back to my wife, she will no doubt be wanting to speak to me,” the way Rhaegar spoke of his wife seemed strange to Lyanna, as though she were a mere acquaintance. 

Lyanna looked at Rhaegar’s regretful expression and before she could change her mind, Lyanna blurted out, “are you happy with your wife?”

The prince looked taken aback for a moment, but he then relaxed into that sad smile he wore so well, “Elia is... a lovely girl.”

Lyanna frowned at the response. When she pictured the perfect man to wed, he would be strong and fierce, equalling her in everything, they would match each other and he would rule by her side in the kingdom of her heart. He would certainly not refer to her as _‘lovely’._

She then remembered the marriage pact to Robert Baratheon and her heart sunk, knowing she would never receive the husband she needed, simply the one she must have.  
Lyanna suddenly felt a longing to be far away from this world with its cold rules and harsh judgements. She looked out across the land like a wolf howling at the moon, she felt the calling of the forest and longed for the feel of leaves under her hands, of her face against cool river water.

Lyanna curled her toes into the grass and soft soil. “Don’t you ever wish you could simply run away?” She whispered, a sudden wind catching her long, dark hair.

Rhaegar watched her with a wide eyed expression, taking a slow step towards her. “Do you mean that?” He asked, quietly.

Lyanna smiled sadly, remembering her vow to her family and duty to her role. “No,” she breathed, swallowing the truth.

Rhaegar said nothing for some time, before inclining his head towards her. “Well then,” he said, turning away from her and walking into the darkness of the shadows.

Lyanna watched him leave, his silver hair almost glowing in the night, and found herself feeling strangely alone.


	2. We Dance in the Fire

It was the final night in Harrenhal as the pavilions were packed away and the nights celebrations could be heard throughout the castle. Rhaegar had spent the day alone, wandering amongst the colourful tents and castle walls. He had been left alone, most knowing of his reputation for being a solitary man. Rhaegar enjoyed walking alone, it gave him time to think and relax from the pressures and duties he so often felt choked by. However, for every second of that day, Lyanna had not left his mind and Rhaegar was beginning to feel frustrated.

He lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Rhaegar pictured Lyanna’s wolfish grin above him, making his heart quicken, something he had not known before. Rhaegar turned his head to look at his wife sleeping peacefully beside him. Her long chestnut hair was fanned out on the pillow, her breathing shallow. Elia’s health had always been a concern, she was often plagued with coughing fits and violent headaches, so bad was it that she had almost died giving birth to their son, Aegon. Despite Elia’s protests, Rhaegar had insisted on leaving their two children at home while they were at the tourney. He saw how the baby’s cries affected Elia’s sleep and he had wished for her to be able to rest properly.  
Rhaegar cursed himself for thinking of Lyanna while his wife slept beside him so innocently. Their marriage was a fond one, though neither of them shared any strong passion or desire for one another, Rhaegar was determined to be a good husband to her. Elia was sweet and kind and she deserved his respect. 

That final thought turned his mind to Lyanna at her mention of wanting respect and Rhaegar dragged his hands across his face. He got out of bed and stood by the window, looking out across the land. Rhaegar watched as the trees swayed in the wind and was reminded of the way Lyanna had twirled around him, laughing. He closed his eyes, remembering, feeling the sudden urge to see her and hear her daring, charming voice. Rhaegar leaned his head against the window, clenching his jaw. He did not want to feel like this; were it his choosing he would simply go back to bed.

But this was beyond his control.

He decided to go for a walk in order to cool his head. Grabbing a loose shirt and trousers, he changed and padded out of the room, nodding at his guards who were so used to his wanderings. The prince walked through the castle like a ghost, his footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. For some reason, Rhaegar felt himself drawn to the spot he had visited the previous night with Lyanna. 

Not entirely sure what he was hoping for, Rhaegar realised with a sigh that she was not there, feeling his heart sink with disappointment. A breeze rippled past him, the cool air whispering past his neck, making his hair stand up. A movement by the side of the castle suddenly caught Rhaegar’s attention.

And there she was.

Turned to the side, Lyanna grinned at him as if to say _‘follow me’_ , before disappearing round the side of the castle. Intrigued, Rhaegar followed her to see her fading into the forest. The prince looked around warily for sentries, but there were none. Without hesitation, he followed the wolf into the woods. 

They maintained a large distance and Rhaegar noticed that Lyanna was wearing her nightgown, the loose material fluttering as she walked. He found himself wondering if she was unable to sleep too.

They walked for a long time until they were truly in the heart of the forest, the moon shining through a clearing in the trees. Rhaegar looked around long enough to realise that he was alone. He froze, searching the darkness desperately for Lyanna. 

Suddenly he felt hot air breathe into his ear. Rhaegar tensed and grabbed for a sword that wasn’t there. He whirled around to see Lyanna giggling, her face flushed from the cold.

“Did I frighten the dragon?” She asked, a dark eyebrow arched.

Rhaegar grinned. “When wolves go prowling in the shadows they should know who they are hunting,” he said, taking a step towards her.

Lyanna looked at him, accepting the challenge, and took a bigger step towards the prince. She now stood inches from Rhaegar’s face, so close was she that he could see the light freckles that decorated her cheeks prettily. He could now see that her eyes were not a dark brown, as he had originally thought, but grey. 

Instinctively, Rhaegar reached out a hand and gently stroked Lyanna’s smooth cheek, bringing out her smile. She danced away from his touch, laughing as she skipped into the darkness. Rhaegar made a sound of amusement as he watched her flitting in and out of the trees, seeming almost like a part of the forest itself. 

“Do you often spend time in the woods?” Rhaegar asked.

“Whenever I can,” Lyanna called back from somewhere to his right. “I often find that the wind and leaves make better company than people.”

“I think I know how you feel,” Rhaegar murmured as he sat down on the damp forest floor, feeling peaceful.

Lyanna appeared out of nowhere and plopped down next to him, smiling.

“So you couldn’t sleep either?” The prince asked.

“Well it _is_ called the hour of the wolf,” Lyanna grinned back at him, her grey eyes shining in the moonlight. 

Rhaegar spotted a twig in Lyanna’s hair, he chuckled as he plucked it out and found his face very close to hers again. He felt his heart contract at the sight of her so near. A part of his mind tugged at him, warning him that he should not be there, he should be back at the castle, asleep next to his wife as he dreamt of their children and the kingdom that would one day be his.

But instead he was deep in the forest, face to face with a she wolf, ensnared by her mischievous grin and playful eyes.

The warning voice in his mind became fainter as Lyanna leaned into him.

“This is probably a very bad idea,” she whispered into his lips. 

She dipped her lips into his softly, and Rhaegar felt the sweetness of the kiss but also the power hiding behind it. He allowed himself to sink into the kiss, placing his hand on her slender neck. Lyanna reacted by pushing the kiss deeper and Rhaegar gently pushed her onto the forest floor. He broke away from her lips long enough to admire how natural she looked nestled amongst the leaves and the moss. Still smiling, he kissed Lyanna again, this time more urgently, amazed at how natural and right it felt to have her lips on his.


	3. The Moon is Rising

Lyanna lay in her bed staring up at the ceiling. Around the room, broken vases and pots littered the floor. Lyanna had stared at the lone, blue rose on her vanity and felt a surge of anger and confusion boil up like fire and she had smashed and destroyed anything that came into reach, except for the rose itself. 

_Rhaegar was gone._

He had been gone for around four months now but she still felt his absence as strongly as she had when he left. Lyanna wandered around Winterfell, half expecting to hear his melancholic voice whisper to her from the shadows, but there was merely silence. He had gone back to King’s Landing with his wife to be with their children. A stab of fury and pain went through Lyanna’s heart and she yanked a pillow from underneath her head, ripping it open with her teeth. 

Lyanna was so confused and miserable. She hated feeling like this, feeling almost weak. Lyanna was strong and determined, sure footed and strong-willed, but at that moment in time she felt lost.

Over the last couple of weeks she and Robert had spent time together, all the while Lyanna making sure to keep a tight smile fixed firmly on her face, lest he see the lonely girl underneath. Usually when she was with Robert he would treat her like a fragile maiden, constantly helping her down from carriages and holding his arm out for her. It annoyed Lyanna to no end and she often contemplated baring her teeth, showing him for who she truly was. But recently all the fire had gone out of Lyanna’s body, leaving her tired and unsure.

Presently there was a sharp knock at the door. Her two older brothers, Benjen and Brandon, and her father had left on a hunting trip so she knew it was her other brother, Ned, at the door.

“Enter,” she said quietly.

Ned came into the room and stared at the destruction around Lyanna. He did not scold her, but sighed and came to sit next to her on the bed. He held out his arm for her to embrace him, but she knew she could not, so she simply sat up further and gave his hand a squeeze. 

“What’s wrong, Lyanna?” Ned asked. “I’ve never seen you like this before, so quiet and distant. Is it Robert?”

Lyanna gave a sad smile and shook her head. More than anything she wanted to confide in her brother; out of all her siblings she felt that Ned understood her the most. However, she could not tell him what was plaguing her mind. This was a battle she would have to face alone, a raging war in her mind that only she could fight. Lyanna placed her head on Ned’s shoulder.

“Winter is coming,” she whispered.

Ned turned to stare at his sister. He had heard the Stark words dozens of times before, but never had they felt so ominous; he felt goose bumps rise on his arms.  
Ned stayed silent for some time before finally replying. “Get some rest,” he murmured, kissing his sister’s head. 

Lyanna watched as Ned left the room.

_‘He’s going to hate me for this,’_ she thought.

Lyanna crossed the room to her vanity, stepping over the broken furniture, and picked up the rose. It was beginning to wither at the edges, but its brilliant blue colour remained strong. She plucked one of the petals off and wrapped her cloak around her. 

The night air was cold and Lyanna could see her breath dancing in front of her. Keeping her head down she made her way to the rookery, finding the steps icy and slippery. The inhabitants of Winterfell paid her no mind, simply enjoying their talk and drink as she drifted down her path. The rookery smelt of old parchment and bird droppings, but Lyanna sat down at the desk used by the maester and set about writing the letter. She held her head in her hands as she contemplated what words to use. One false move and her entire plan would come undone, Lyanna was well aware of how dangerous this was, but she had no other choice. 

Lyanna clung to the hope that he would understand her meaning and how much she needed him. She gritted her teeth at the thought of depending on him so much but, as she kept reminding herself, what else could she do? Lyanna scratched out the message with a quill and looked back at it.

It simply read, _‘please’._

Of course, Rhaegar Targaryen had no obligation to reply, nor did he have to help her. Lyanna found it painful to think of how easy it would be for him to simply turn away from her. Clinging to the memory of the way he had held her and looked at her all those months ago, she sealed the letter, placing the rose petal inside. Without another thought, she attached the letter to a raven and watched as it flew out across the land, a trail of black feathers fluttering behind it.

Feeling emotionally and physically drained, Lyanna dragged herself back to her room. She hated feeling like this, like a beast bound by chains. 

But there was no other way.

This was her fault and she would have to crawl her way out of this madness. Bitterly, Lyanna knew that the first step was to cry for help, and so she had turned to Rhaegar.

Once she arrived back in her warm room, her handmaids were busily trying to clean up the mess.

“Get out!” Lyanna snapped, and the two women scrambled to their feet and out of the door. Lyanna was never cruel to her handmaids, but as of late she had found herself drawing more on her wolf’s blood, feeling anger surge through her veins at the slightest annoyance.

Walking into the middle of the room, she stood in front of the mirror. Lyanna shrugged off her cloak and robes, letting them fall to the ground. With her chin held high she glared into the mirror, as naked as her name day. 

You would only notice it if you knew what to look for, but to unsuspecting eyes, it would pass unseen. 

For there, on Lyanna’s pale belly was a small, but very real, bump.


	4. Wolves Will Take Me Home

Ned sat in his father’s solar, watching one of the many candles as the flames danced. He listened to his father, Rickard Stark, and his trusted men talking heatedly about Lyanna’s disappearance last night. They had argued for the entire day, as to what action must be taken, until night had fallen, but they were all in agreement that Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna, dragging her from her family, and carried her off. The guards had not heard any commotion from inside the room, but the handmaids that morning had found the window open, letting in a ghostly wind. His father’s men were calling for the prince’s blood and pledged their swords to killing him. 

Ned had his back to the men, not wishing to be a part of the discussion. Unlike the others, he did not share their wish to kill Rhaegar. Whilst he believed it was he who Lyanna was with, he did not think it was an act of greed and lust. Ned thought back to the look of sympathy in his sister’s eyes when she saw the prince at the tourney; he had never seen her face so gentle. There was also the matter of Lyanna’s strange behaviour leading up to her disappearance, was it possible she knew of her fate?

Ned turned to his younger brother, Benjen, who sat beside him; his face solemn. 

“Brother, what do you think?” Ned muttered.

Benjen shook his head. “I believe father is thinking too rashly, if we play our cards wrong we could bring war upon the land.”

Ned grimaced, knowing the truth in his words. Benjen Stark was level headed, calm and he always thought everything through carefully before acting. He was the opposite of their elder brother, Brandon, who had a wild temper and ferocity, something Lyanna had inherited a spark of. 

Ned stood up and faced the table where the men and his father sat. “Father, is there a chance that this was not a kidnapping?” 

The men grew silent and stared at Ned.

“Lyanna was strong and defiant,” Ned continued. “Do you believe she would simply allow Rhaegar to carry her off like that? There must be some other reason-”

“SILENCE,” Rickard Stark bellowed, his stony expression fleetingly broken. “You would believe that Lyanna went with him _willingly?”_

“Well perhaps they-” Ned began again.

“My daughter has been taken from me by Rhaegar Targaryen and for that I will kill him,” Rickard said, his voice as strong as iron, his eyes like steel. 

Ned continued to argue, “Rhaegar was a good man, he would never hurt Lyanna,”

“ _He is a Targaryen_ ,” Rickard hissed. “They are mad, they are cruel and _one of them has my daughter_.”

Knowing his father would not listen to any other explanation, Ned sat back down in his chair, watching as his father began to pace back and forth. 

“Men,” Rickard said, his voice regaining its cold tone. “You shall accompany me to King’s Landing where we will demand that Rhaegar Targaryen repent for his crimes,” He then turned to the maester who stood in the doorway. “Walys, send word to Brandon of Lyanna’s disappearance, he will be thirsty for Rhaegar’s blood and I shan’t deny him it. We will meet with him at Riverrun and go to King’s Landing. We ride at first light.” Rickard turned to Ned and Benjen. “You two will stay here, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”  
Ned gave the slightest of nods and watched as his father and his men left the room, muttering of their plans. Benjen walked to the door, but stopped and turned to face Ned.

“What do you think of it all, Ned?” Benjen asked.

Ned ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to think,” he murmured.

Benjen lowered his head and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

After a short time, Ned stood up and walked to the window, looking out across Winterfell and the North. He recalled how Rhaegar had sung such sad songs at the tourney feast. He was not the sort of man to kidnap a young girl from her family and ride off with her, his father perhaps, but not Rhaegar. 

Of course, Ned was anxious for the safety of his sister, but he had more faith in her fiery spirit than his father did. She would not have been carried off so easily, it would be more like Lyanna to fight him with tooth and fist than be taken. But then Ned was reminded of that laurel of blue roses that Rhaegar had given Lyanna and could not help but feel that it was somehow key to this trail of events. 

Once word of Lyanna’s disappearance reached Robert Baratheon, Ned knew there would be no stopping his anger. He gritted his teeth as he thought of how Robert had gone into a wild fury after Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna ‘Queen of Love and Beauty’. Ned was sure Robert would rage wars for Lyanna and bring his hammer down on anyone who got in his way.

Ned thought back to his sister’s words as she had sat beside him a month ago, sounding almost afraid.

A sudden gust of cold North wind flew through the window, choking the life out of the remaining candles, leaving the room in darkness. 

Ned stared solemnly out across the land. “Winter is coming.”


	5. Reaching for the Knife

Ned found himself sat in his father’s solar once more, struck by how nothing had changed in the room despite everything. Just five months ago Rickard Stark had sat in that very chair and talked of rescuing his beloved daughter and killing Rhaegar Targaryen for his crimes against her and House Stark. Now Ned sat in his place and all that was left of the Starks were himself, Benjen and Lyanna, wherever she was. Ned had felt numb for the last month after hearing the news of his father and Brandon’s death, it was all so surreal, as though it was happening very far away from Ned. He felt as though everyone was moving around him, talking near him but not at him, Ned felt like a ghost walking among the living. He was lord of Winterfell now but the title was hollow and meaningless. Winterfell was not Winterfell without Brandon’s booming voice, his father’s solemn face and Lyanna’s mischievous grins. For what is a home without a family?

A fist slammed down on the table in front of Ned and he looked up, dazed. Robert Baratheon was frowning down at him, a look of concern and anger etched on his face. Anger was now the face Robert wore permanently. The disappearance of Lyanna had changed him, Robert had grown wilder, more ferocious; his wavy black hair was longer, his beard thicker. 

“Seven hells, Ned, wake up,” Robert said.

“Sorry, I...” Ned trailed off, wearily. 

“You’ve got to snap out of it!” Robert continued. “We’re planning a rebellion here.”

Ned frowned. “A rebellion,” he muttered, as though hearing it for the first time.

Robert leaned in close to Ned’s face. “They murdered your brother and father. They tricked them and then they burned them alive.”

Ned looked away, trying not to picture his father and Brandon screaming as the flames consumed them. 

Robert stalked away, his anger showing through every action, every word. “If they think they are getting away with this,” his voice growing louder and thicker.

Ned closed his eyes. He was weary. Of course he wanted vengeance for the family he had lost, but now he simply wanted to hold his wife, Catelyn, in his arms and feel her gentle breathing against his skin. He opened his eyes once more, tearing himself away from the peaceful image to settle this once and for all. 

“Jon, what do you say about all this?” Ned asked, looking across the table at Jon Arryn who had arrived at Winterfell shortly after Robert.

Jon held his chin on his steepled hands and looked down at the map covering the table, figurines of wolves, lions, stags and dragons littering the land.

“King Aerys has commanded me to hand the two of you over, of course I shall not do such a thing, the two of you are like sons to me,” Jon said, carefully. “However we must confront the king, regardless. We must raise the banners, for our sake, for our people’s sake, for our familys’ sake.”

Ned nodded. He thought of the look on Catelyn’s face earlier that week, as her hand fell to her stomach. He knew he would do anything to keep his family safe.

“We will raise the banners, the North will rally behind us for the crimes the Targaryens have committed. The North remembers,” Ned said gravely. 

“You’re damn right we’ll raise the banners!” Robert said seething. “I will never forgive those dragon bastards for what they did to us, for what they did to my Lyanna,” his eyes clouded with emotion, his body becoming slightly limp as though losing himself for a moment. But he shook his head and the anger returned. “I will smash his head against the rocks, I will paint the walls with Rhaegar’s blood.”

Ned looked at his friend with concern. He thought of Robert as a brother and it pained Ned to see him in so much agony. As Lyanna disappeared into the night, Robert’s kindness and gentle side had gone with her, drowning in a sea of anger and depression, leaving Robert unruly and blood thirsty. Ned would need to stay by his friend’s side to make sure he did nothing foolish. 

Robert stood over the table, his body shaking with rage, looking out across the map. 

“I will not rest until every single last Targaryen is dead!” he roared, and brought his hammer down onto the table, cracking the oak and smashing the dragon figurines until nothing remained but tiny little pieces, scattered across the land.


	6. I Am just a Lonely Creature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knowing the characters' fate made this harder to write.

Lyanna was weak. Her whole body felt light and every movement hurt. It was always hot in her room, making Lyanna feel cramped and agitated. She felt like some caged beast, longing for the forest, to feel the grass between her toes and smell the deep pine scent of the trees. For a long time Lyanna had kept the window open, allowing a cool breeze to envelop the room. She had sat on the window ledge and closed her eyes, allowing the wind to cool her head. But Lyanna’s fever had made her unstable and she had almost fallen to her death had it not been for Rhaegar entering the room and yanking her back from the window. It had stayed closed from then on. They lived in a tower in the south of Westeros, which Rhaegar had named The Tower of Joy, despite the sadness that surrounded it.

Lyanna sat up in her bed, listening to the sound of her shaky breaths, feeling sweat gathering on her neck making her hair damp. She held her baby to her breast, feeling content to have him near her. He was the most beautiful thing Lyanna had ever seen and she knew she would risk her life for him, he was everything to her. Child birth had not been easy, especially without any handmaids, due to the secrecy of Lyanna’s location and predicament. It had left her seriously ill even now, months after she had given birth. Rhaegar had brought with him milk of the poppy to sooth her pain but Lyanna had refused, gritted her teeth and bore it. These days she was so weak she could barely stand.

Rhaegar entered the room and smiled at the sight of her and his son. “How fares my lady this morning?”

Lyanna gave him a faint smile in return. “Better,” she said, hoping her voice would not betray her.

Rhaegar crossed the room and sat next to her, stroking the baby’s little head. 

“He does not cry often, is that ok? He’s not ill is he?” Lyanna asked anxiously.

Rhaegar chuckled. “It’s alright. What a solemn babe he is.”

Lyanna laughed. It was good to have Rhaegar with her; he gave her strength when she felt she was at her weakest. He looked older now than he had when they first met, lines deepening in his face, but he was ever as handsome and strong. Their situation had hit Lyanna hardest; she was thinner than before, and though it did not show on her face, she felt older in her mind, weary. They were alone here, save for the two Kingsguard knights who guarded her, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent, who Lyanna found agreeable and liked them very much. They kept her company when the nights were long and hard and told stories of their many battles.

However, despite having Rhaegar and her child beside her, Lyanna could not keep the nightmares at bay. She saw her family often, tormented at her disappearance and for that she was wrecked with guilt. Lyanna thought of Ned and wondered if he had tried to find her. It would not do if he had, no one could ever know about this place. She sometimes saw Robert too and felt bad for how hurt he probably was, however she stood by her feelings; he would not have made a good husband. Lyanna remembered the words she had said to Ned upon hearing of her engagement to Robert, _“Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature.”_ Her feelings had not changed, yet she still felt guilty for the pain she had probably caused him.

“I now have a present for my lady,” Rhaegar said, producing a large bunch of blue roses.

Lyanna gasped and laid the babe in his crib beside her, taking the roses and inhaling their sweet scent. With a pang, she thought of how they reminded her of Winterfell and Lyanna felt hot tears welling in her eyes.  
“They’re beautiful,” she sobbed.

Rhaegar’s face creased with concern. “What’s wrong, my love?”

“I’m fine,” Lyanna said, wiping the tears away. 

But it wasn’t just the roses that made Lyanna feel sad.

“You’re leaving aren’t you,” she whispered.

Rhaegar froze and stared at her painfully. 

Lyanna had heard a man arrive late last night. Fear had choked her and she had pulled her son into her arms, protectively, her chest heaving with effort and terror. They had found her and they were going to take her child away and kill Rhaegar. Lyanna had sat, curled in a ball with the baby for a few hours, listening to Rhaegar and the man argue until she had finally collapsed from exhaustion. 

“Who was that man last night?” Lyanna asked.

“Gerold Hightower,” Rhaegar replied. “Lord Commander of my father’s Kingsguard. 

“And he came for you?” 

“Yes.”

Rhaegar placed his hand on Lyanna’s and held it there. “My love, I must go to war. It appears that Robert’s rebellion has swept through the land with extraordinary strength. My father needs me.”

Fear wracked Lyanna’s body. “I can’t do this alone,” she murmured, her voice wobbling. 

Rhaegar’s hand tightened on hers. “You must. For our son, you must.”

Lyanna’s eyes softened and she looked down at the child, who was sucking his foot contently. With a small smile she picked him up and cradled him close to her. Despite her fever, Lyanna knew she must be strong for her son. 

“I will protect him,” she whispered. “With my life I will protect him.”

Rhaegar held his son’s tiny hand and looked her with sad eyes. “Don’t worry, I will come back victorious from this war, I will return to your side and I shall crown you my queen. We shall live in the castle and lead a happy life. I shall bring you blue roses every day and we shall go hunting. We shall sit with our son and tell him of how much he is loved.”

Lyanna smiled at the beauty of the lie, feeling hot tears roll down her cheeks. Because of course, Rhaegar already had a wife and children, Lyanna could never live with him publically. With the rebellion, her son would be killed and she would be an outcast from society. However, for a moment, Lyanna allowed herself to believe in Rhaegar’s words.

She leaned forward and kissed her son’s head.

“We must think of a name for this little one when I return,” Rhaegar said, his voice full of amusement. 

“He will be a Snow,” Lyanna realised with sadness. 

Rhaegar looked at her, his expression one of pain. “I may already have a wife,” he leaned towards her. “But you shall always be my Queen of Love and Beauty, the queen of my heart, Lyanna.” He kissed her with all his happiness, and all the sadness locked away in his soul, and Lyanna felt another tear trickle down her cheek as she kissed him back. 

Rhaegar stood up and walked to the door, facing away from Lyanna. “The Lord Commander will stay here along with Arthur and Oswell so you will be safe.” 

He turned to her. “Be strong, my love.”

And with that, Rhaegar left the room, closing the door behind him. 

Lyanna brought her son closer to her, nuzzling him. 

“I will keep you safe,” she murmured.

Lyanna willed her strength to remain with her until her son was named and grown but as she dreamed of seeing him as a young boy, laughing and smiling, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she never would.


	7. Howling From Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue at the end taken from Ned's memories in the books

The mountains were stained red, as though the blood from the war had seeped across the land to the outskirts of Westeros. Ned felt as though he had been pulled and stretched; his entire body ached and his mind was exhausted. This war had drained him entirely. He remembered the three bodies wrapped in crimson cloaks, abandoned at the foot of the iron throne, and how small they were. 

_‘Too small’_ , Ned had thought grimly. 

He and Robert had argued profusely over that, they were just children and yet they had been butchered and tortured for simply baring the Targaryen name. Robert had said it was ‘necessary’ and yet Ned had felt sick at the sight. 

Now he simply focused on doing what he set out to do, taking his sister home.

Benjen had since joined The Night’s Watch, and so Lyanna was the only family Ned had left. It was a lonely thought, like a cold, biting wind whispering through Ned’s bones. He had to find Lyanna.

Ned had found out from one of the serving girls, who had overheard him talking with the King, that Gerold Hightower had been sent to a place called The Tower of Joy in southern Westeros to bring back Rhaegar, and that was most likely where Lyanna was. 

He could see it up ahead, a lone building in a red land. Ned turned to his companions who rode just behind him. With him were Lord Willam Dustin, Lord Ethan Glover, Captain Martyn Cassel, Chieftain Theo Wull, Ser Mark Ryswell and Howland Reed.

“This is it,” Ned said bitterly.

They nodded solemnly, all of them seasoned and trusted men. 

As they approached the tower, three figures appeared from the tower and stood in front of the door, swords drawn. 

“Is that,” Cassel said, bewildered. “Ser Arthur Dayne?”

Ned grimaced, the thought had occurred to him at The Battle of the Trident, that several members of the Kingsguard were not there, and perhaps Rhaegar had sent them to guard Lyanna. 

“This will be a battle to remember,” Glover said. 

The mood was solemn as the men approached one another, their expressions hard. These were familiar faces, oft recalled with an awe filled smile. This would indeed be a battle to remember, but not one bathed in honour or glory.

“I looked for you on the Trident,” Ned said to them.

“We were not there,” Ser Gerold answered.

“Woe to the Usurper if we had been,” said Ser Oswell.

“When King's Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your king with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.”

“Far away,” Ser Gerold said, “or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells.”

“I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege,” Ned told them, and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them.”

“Our knees do not bend easily,” said Ser Arthur Dayne. 

“Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with him.”

“Ser Willem is a good man and true,” said Ser Oswell.

“But not of the Kingsguard,” Ser Gerold pointed out. “The Kingsguard does not flee.”

“Then or now,” said Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

“We swore a vow,” explained old Ser Gerold.

Ned’s wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three.

“And now it begins,” said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

“No,” Ned said with sadness in his voice. “Now it ends.”

 

 

The scene was dark and the air thick with heat and the smell of blood. Ned stood over the bodies, his chest heaving as he looked around at the men he had battled and laughed with. He would never get used to this. Ned looked over at Howland Reed, his expression hard. The only survivors nodded at one another. They dragged the bodies into the base of the tower so they would not begin to decompose in the heat. These were good men and Ned would be damned if they were not given a decent burial, though they would have to wait. 

The two of them began to climb the stairs spiralling up through the tower, Ned half running half walking, torn between wanting to find Lyanna, but fearful for what he would find.  
He and Howland Reed reached the top floor of the tower and Ned stopped. Suddenly fear swept through his body and he wondered whether he would be met with a corpse. After all the death and blood he had seen in the war, Ned was not sure he could cope with adding his sister to the ghosts that haunted his mind.

As though sensing his fear, Reed placed a sturdy hand on Ned’s shoulder.

“You are not alone here, Ned,” he said.

Ned nodded, grateful for his presence. He stepped towards the door, and slid the bolt across, the smell of blood hitting him before he entered the room.


	8. I Hear the Howling and It's Time to Let Go

The room was dark and the thick smell of blood choked the air, filling Ned with fear. He heard rasping breaths from the bed and he moved towards it hesitantly. He saw, with relief, that it was Lyanna. However he then registered just how thin she was, like a skeleton and she could barely hold her own head up. A violent coughing fit shook her body and Ned saw that she was clutching something to her, hidden under a blanket. 

“Lyanna?” He said, as he tentatively sat down on the bed beside her, noting how it was covered in blood. 

Lyanna looked around, dazed. “Ned, is that you?” she asked in a voice barely higher than a whisper.

“I’m here to take you home,” Ned said, his voice wavering.

Lyanna gave him a sad smile. “That is good of you.”

Ned turned to the door and saw Howland Reed there, his face full of concern.

“Would you give us a moment alone?” Ned asked him, to which Reed nodded and left the room.

Ned put his hand out on the bed and felt something under his palm. He picked it up and saw it was a withered blue rose petal.

“It was sweet of Rhaegar,” Lyanna said weakly. “They’re my favourite you know.”

Ned reached out and felt Lyanna’s forehead; it was scolding hot and clammy. A fresh wave of fear flooded Ned’s body and he held his sister’s cheek, feeling the bone underneath.

“What happened?” Ned asked.

Lyanna hesitated. “Rhaegar came for me and I went with him,” she said, as though it were that simple.

“But _why?”_ Ned asked again.

With a sad smile, Lyanna pulled back the blanket to reveal a baby underneath, asleep against his mother’s chest.

Ned’s eyes widened. “This is...”

Lyanna nodded weakly. “He is the blood of the dragon and the wolf. A child born of ice and fire. My child.” She turned away, her eyes blank. “Though I suppose, in the end, the flames will always melt the ice.”

Ned stared at her, not grasping her meaning, still attempting to understand what had happened. 

Lyanna slowly looked back at her brother. “Would you like to hold him?”

Ned looked at the child, warily, but took him all the same, lifting him out of his mother’s frail arms. He stared down at the babe. This child was the reason for the war, the reason for the slaughter of the Targaryens and the rebellion. He was the reason Rhaegar Targaryen was dead and the reason Lyanna Stark soon would be. Yet as the child opened his dark eyes, Ned found himself growing calm as he looked into the child’s eyes and wondered whether this was what a father felt like. Born in blood, Ned knew this child would carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“He has no name,” Lyanna began quietly. “I was waiting for Rhaegar to return, yet I fear I was too late.”

She stared off into the distance for some time, her breaths shallow and raspy. It filled Ned with pain to see her like this, his sister Lyanna, so strong and brave, withered into someone who could barely stand. 

She looked on Ned with a sudden desperation and sat up quickly, causing another coughing fit, and she grasped at his shoulders, looking at him with pleading eyes.  
“Please, Ned,” she said, her voice full of fear. “Please take care of my son. You must give him a home, let him know love, let him known compassion,” Lyanna began to tremble with the effort of staying upright. “Please, Ned.”

Ned looked at his sister, so desperate for her son to live, how could he ever deny Lyanna her wish.

“I will,” he said.

Lyanna fell back into the bed, relaxing at his words. She smiled as she took his free hand in hers and held it tightly. 

“Promise me, Ned,” she whispered.

Ned felt her grip on his hand loosen and she closed her eyes, the smile still on her face.

Ned stared at Lyanna, barely realising what had happened. He hastily lowered the babe into its crib and clutched his sister’s shoulders.

“Lyanna?” He croaked.

Her head lolled back, her body limp.

“Lyanna!” Ned cried as he pulled his sister close to him, sobbing into her hair. 

It was some time later when Howland Reed found Ned still clutching Lyanna to him, as though afraid to let go.


	9. Raindrops Hit The Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, the chapter titles are lyrics from the song 'Wolves' by The Good Natured.
> 
> As I previously mentioned, this fanfiction is based around a theory on Jon Snow's heritage, so if you don't want to hear the theory, as it will be a spoiler if it proves correct, turn back now!

Sometime later, Ned sat at the window, the child in his arms. He was relieved to see that the boy had inherited Lyanna’s dark hair as oppose to the silver of Rhaegar’s. Light filtered down onto them and the smell of blood was fading. Ned vowed to take Lyanna’s body back with him to Winterfell and set about burying the dead men outside the tower. He now looked down on the boy, who looked up at Ned with dark eyes.

Ned ran a hand through his hair and thought of how silly this seemed, though he felt it important.

“What I am about to tell you, I will never speak of again. I feel you have a right to know, though I pray that you never remember, nor find out,” Ned said.

“Your father’s name was Rhaegar Targaryen. He was-” Ned began, unsure of what to say. But he decided that everything the prince had done, he had done for Lyanna. “He was a good man and a brave warrior, though like all men he was a fool in the face of beauty.

“Your mother,” Ned’s voice wavered as he pictured the blood and the roses.

_‘Promise me, Ned’._

“Your mother was Lyanna Stark,” he continued. “She was the strongest woman I knew. Sure willed, beautiful and fierce, she was my little sister. And I miss her greatly.”

The boy looked up at Ned as though listening to a bedtime story.

“A child of ice and fire, you were born in the depths of war and despair, and the world will not always be a kind place to you, but you must remain brave like your father and strong like your mother. You will know happiness, you will know safety and you will know family. From this day forward until the end of my days, you will be my son, no matter what happens.”

Ned leant down and kissed the child’s forehead.

“Jon.”


End file.
